


Filthy decadence

by Kywr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Morality, Gen, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Mind Games, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Multi, Possessive Tom Riddle, Smart Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kywr/pseuds/Kywr
Summary: Hadrian Cepheus Black, Master of Death, has been raised by the black squib sheep of the Black family (the irony) and is now attending Hogwarts trying to fly under one Tom Riddle's radar. Preferably forever. But as we all know, plans don't mean shit and a certain bored Slytherin prefect is intrigued by his latest obsession. Leave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe. Leave two wolves? Well. Who knows?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	Filthy decadence

**Author's Note:**

> My fellow mortals... The characters I'm attempting to write will be complex, they will be nitty, gritty and probably will not be making the best decisions at any given time. Do I know how to write them? Absolutely not. Will I be trying to write to the best of my abilities in order to satisfy you fanfiction sluts nd h0es? Of course I will. Now let the fun commence *whips out golden jeweled scissors and proudly cuts the red ribbon*

Filthy decadence. Noises: loud, blaring, jarring. Harry raises his hands in a desperate attempt to stifle the vexing sounds. He struggles to hear himself think as they ring in his ears and render him numb to the sensation of filthy hands creeping up his body. The green-eyed boy’s limbs feel heavy as he tries to move through the crowd, the heaviness clinging to him; he feels like he’s drowning. He stumbles past them trying his hardest to not inhale the thick smog that the others have conjured, it wraps around his outstretched fingers and tries to lure him back. The clouds are dyed an acid green by the eerie lime light that pervades the large room. Harry is pushed and shoved as the sweaty bodies move to the music, the dark bodies appearing like a swirling black maelstrom. It washes over the young boy as he attempts to find his bearings. Smoke threads, dyed red like fate’s cat cradle, brush against his calves as he lugs his weight through the churning hordes of people. Vertigo. He can’t breathe. He has no clue why he’s in the Slytherin’s common room. He shouldn’t be there. He had just been walking down the corridor. He-

Then he sees the King on his throne. The other boy sits on his throne, surrounded by his fawning sycophantic cult as he idly strokes the sides of the chair with those bewitching spidery fingers of his. They all follow the movement with dilated pupils. Lips part and _he_ smiles that serpentine smile of his, fangs bared, teeth too sharp to be natural.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Shit.

The prefect has spun his web and Harry just walked right into it. The spider beckons and Harry has no choice but to obey. He’s filled with the gentle lull of familiar magic as it urges him to walk towards the other boy. He can almost see the red tint in those glazed eyes as he nears.

The was in no way how he expected his evening to go. The monotonous, tedious, meticulously crafted routine had shattered into irreparable pieces. All because of him. While he didn’t necessarily hold anything against Riddle, he was well aware of his true nature and wished to avoid the so-called apex predator for as long as possible. From applying glamours, to the occasional notice me not charm, Harry had tried for the duration of his time at Hogwarts to blend into the mundane body of students. He was unnoticeable. He was unremarkable. He had to be of course.

* * *

There is no such thing as uniqueness.

His existence is so tedious, so monotonous that it enrages him. He keeps the brewing maelstrom under his perfect mask- the golden child, intelligent, handsome and charismatic. He keeps Tom Marvolo Riddle exactly as he wants- the way everyone else wants him to be. This should not however be confused with Tom pandering to the wishes of others, absolutely not. He was above them as much as they wished to deny it. They should recognise their betters. Because Tom in every sense of the word was better, he was exceptional. He would grow to be the greatest and life might finally start to take on colours that weren’t shades of grey and muted variants.

It was all just incredibly dull. There was no distinction between one day and the other as they bled into each other like wet ink. Only he was special. It was his gift alone, his freakishness, his uniqueness. No other child could do the things he did. Colour finally started to bleed through. Tom was drunk of it, the euphoric high of absolute power where he was a god, he was the God that governed the world because, naturally, he was special and could do the things that no one else could.

Until he wasn’t. 1938. The discovery of the wizarding world shattered his world and toppled his pedestal. There was a world with thousands just like him? Unacceptable. The seemingly batty professor, if he was what he claimed to be, had a perceptive twinkle in his eye that set Tom on edge. He would usually enjoy the attention upon his person, the other children had to recognise his specialness of course but he didn’t like the old fools’ eyes. He wasn’t an insect to be examined or some kind of bug to be inspected. He wondered if the old man could hear his molars grinding. So, Tom decided to make himself special again, bored with being boring. He told his professor-to-be his various exploits that had kept him amused over the past few years. The animals, the children and the snakes. And he struck gold and he was back to being special. The other man recognised how different he was, and if not now, he would begin to recognise how unalike Tom was to the other children. Hogwarts would be his playground; it would be his castle and he would be handed the crown.

His short-lived satisfaction was not to last. The children he encountered were all too familiar.

**boring boring boring boring boring boring boring boring boring boring boring boring boring boring**

How he hated it. The situation was only marginally better as he had more to experiment with. But it all became predictable, just as the tide would creep up the shore it would eventually ebb away. His obsessions never lasted for more than a few weeks if not days until it all became so mundane. Their replies, their thoughts were all the same once he broke them in. And when they broke, when they snapped, they were no fun.

His lips twitched slightly. Breathe in. Breathe out. Ah. When he saw the fight leaving their eyes, when they gave in, when they sagged slightly and breath evened out- he could just-

Violence intertwined with sensuality. All their little silly power plays amused him. When they thought they had him, they couldn’t be more wrong. He just indulged them a little. After all, give them the rope to tie the noose themselves, no? In the end of the day, they were all were dancing to his tune.

Fuck. But even that became boring until he found another small interaction to get the delicious rush of blood in his veins.

An everlasting cycle. The only reason why he kept playing was because

His eye spasmed.

He kept playing these games of cat and mouse because

What else did he have to live for?


End file.
